


five times Neal and Peter were mistaken for a couple

by Fatale (femme)



Category: White Collar
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 05:21:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femme/pseuds/Fatale





	five times Neal and Peter were mistaken for a couple

five times Neal and Peter were mistaken for a couple  
WC: 1286  
Rated: G, nothing offensive here other than an overabundance of silliness

A/N: Really meant for this to be Gen, but let’s call it Neal/Peter. Also wanted to see if I could write shameless fluff! I’m a little embarrassed, y’all.

 

 

1.

Neal handed Peter his iced latte - full fat, no whipped cream, Peter insisted - as if lattes weren't by their very nature just little bit girly and somehow it made Peter sterner and more manly to have his sweet, overpriced drink with extra calories. Peter popped the lid off. "Neal, I said no whip-"

Neal rolled his eyes and snatched Peter's drink out of his hand before Peter could protest. He took a big slurping sip and made sure to lick the extra whip cream off the rim.

"That was disgusting," Peter observed, eyebrows raised. "I sincerely hope you don't expect me to drink it now."

"You will drink it," Neal insisted, "because I stood in line for nearly twenty minutes to get it for you. The barista told me that I had a cute _boyfriend_ and that it was sweet that I was standing in line for him. "

Peter snorted. "You wish I was your boyfriend."

"I literally could not think of anything that would be worse."

"I've been told I'm a tender and attentive lover," Peter teased, unable to resist grinning at the way Neal turned slightly _pink_. He took a sip of his coffee. "It really is better without the whipped cream. Thanks, _honey_."

Neal hunched his shoulders forward and jammed his hands in his coat pockets. "I beg of you, stop. I promise, I will never lose another bet to you again."

 

2.

"Why are you being so mean?" Neal asked, blue eyes narrowed and flashing. All around them, the sounds of the party muffled and died down, as all the guests became aware of the small drama unfolding in their midst.

"Hey, I wasn't the one flirting with the bartender!" Peter said, grabbing Neal's arm and hauling him closer. He scanned the room for exit points. They had to get out of here in five minutes or their cover would be blown.

"Is it too much to ask for a little attention?" Neal hissed, leaning close and scanning the back half of the room over Peter's shoulder.

"I'll show you attention," Peter said and started pulling Neal towards the back door.

Neal followed Peter's lead and let himself be dragged from the room, just as their mark came in the front entrance. They managed not to be spotted by seconds. "Peter," Neal said, slightly jogging to keep up. "Peter, hey-"

"That was too close," Peter said, heart thudding and adrenaline rushing through his veins. He stopped when Neal dug his heels in. “If he’d seen you…”

"What did you mean by 'I'll show you attention?'" Neal asked warily, shaking his arm out of Peter's grasp.

Peter shrugged. "I don't know, I just had to find an excuse to get the hell out of there as fast as possible."

Neal smoothed the invisible wrinkles to the front of his jacket with both hands, which was the only tell Peter had ever picked up of his. "I think you have control issues, buddy."

"It was a ploy-"

"A con," Neal interrupted. "The best cons come from something you know."

"I don't know where you're going with this." He motioned for Neal to follow and started down the back hall towards the fire exit. "Come on."

"Yes, sir," Neal said, and flashed him a dazzling smile. "I don't want you to _beat_ me or anything." He looked regretful. "Or beat up the poor waiter I was flirting with."

"I wouldn't have beat up anyone just for flirting with you." Peter didn't add that it was mostly because it would include pretty much _everyone on the planet Earth_ and his hands were bound to get tired at some point.

"What about someone flirting with Elizabeth?"

Peter paused, thinking carefully. "Maybe," he said, as honestly as he could.

Neal blinked. "I don't know whether I'm aroused or appalled."

"I can genuinely say I'm not sure which I prefer," Peter said, feeling helpless and vaguely confused, not unfamiliar feelings when he ended up talking about sex with Neal.

Neal looked scandalized. “Is it possible to be both?"

 

3.

"Aren't you the particular one?" The shopkeeper asked with an indulgent smile as Peter examined the Rolex from every angle. She’d obviously made some assumptions about their relationship, which Peter seemed to have missed, but nothing much got by Neal.

"Oh, he is," Neal interjected. "So particular and fussy, everything has to be just so."

Peter tried not to give into the urge to elbow Neal in the ribs. "I'm not-"

"Yes, you are," Neal said, and paused. "...Sugar Daddy." He leaned close to Peter and ran a possessive hand over his chest.

The shopkeeper tittered. Peter closed his eyes and silently vowed to kill Neal when they closed this case.

 

4.

The surveillance van smelled like fish, which was terrible in ways Peter couldn’t even describe. Neal had suggested picking up fish dinners for everyone in the van, and somehow made sure as soon as they were done eating, it was time for him to go undercover. Peter had no proof that Neal planned it that way, but he _knew_.

“Hey.” Peter grabbed Neal’s arm to get his attention. “Fix your tie.” He leaned over and tightened the knot, straightening and smoothing it as he went along. “Be careful and remember the code phrase. We can be in there in under three minutes if you need us.”

“Right, got it,” Neal said and jumped out of the van and crossed the sidewalk into the building with an easy, casual stride.

“Very domestic, boss,” Diana said.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” Peter said, ignoring the knowing look she gave him.

“Is there any way we could roll down a window?” Jones asked, sounding miserable.

 

5.

Peter had a bowl of popcorn precariously perched on one knee, which Neal periodically swiped handfuls from, the motion almost too swift to detect, while Peter flipped through Netflix shows, trying to find something they could both agree on.

“You know, if you just asked,” Peter huffed, clicking the remote, determinedly ignoring Neal's slim, nimble hand snatching more popcorn. He was not going to watch _The Thomas Crown Affair_ again and listen to Neal critique the heists. Although he’d had fun pointing out last time that Thomas Crown had not been caught. Then Neal reminded him it was because he ended up sleeping with the person who was trying to catch him, and Peter ceased to find the movie amusing or interesting at all.

“Didn’t know you were so stingy with your popcorn.”

“No, no,” Peter said, “this is a metaphor for your life, you know. You take things without asking, things that most people would gladly give you.”

“Sorry, didn’t know you were so stingy with your metaphoric popcorn.” He looked at him as if he clearly thought Peter was _crazy_. A crazy snack hoarder.

“It’s not about the popcorn,” Peter explained to Neal, exasperated.

Neal already looked bored with the conversation. “May I have some popcorn?”

“You may.”

Neal reached over, grabbed Peter’s coke from the side table and took a long swallow before Peter could object. “Classic misdirection,” he said smugly.

“Congratulations, you conned a coke from me, even though you have your own. Well done, sir.”

“Don’t know why, things always taste better when I take them from someone else." Neal shrugged. “Besides, it’s not the size of the con, it’s the skill.”

“You know who says that? People with tiny cons. Miniscule.”

“I think we can both agree that my cons are much larger than average.” Neal frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing anymore.”

Peter felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, which he tried unsuccessfully to hide from Neal. He handed Neal the bowl, who unceremoniously accepted it as if it were his due. “When were we ever?” Peter asked, feeling ridiculously fond and content.

 

 

The end.


End file.
